


A Kind of Homecoming

by wasted_truth



Series: The Rickest Morty [3]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasted_truth/pseuds/wasted_truth
Summary: Part 3 of this series. Evil Morty arrives at his new home with Rick D-608, which is not like coming home at all.





	A Kind of Homecoming

Rick landed the ship carefully inside the garage of a house that looked exactly like the one Morty had spent his whole life in, except for his time at the Citadel. However, as the headlights illuminated the interior of the garage, Morty could easily see that Rick’s workspace was much more elaborate and less chaotic than his first Rick’s.

 

The garage door closed behind them as Rick opened a compartment in the dash. He pulled out some kind of gun with a glass vial attached at the top.

 

“Roll up your sleeve.”

 

Morty recoiled from the stranger that was pointing that thing at him. “W-Why?”

 

Sighing, Rick rolled his eyes. “It’s a flu shot. Trust me, you’ll want it. Come on.”

 

He had no choice, he knew. This man could always pin him down and give him the “flu shot.” Where would he go? Frightened now that his situation was more perilous than before, he pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder. Rick leaned in and injected him. Morty didn’t even feel a needle. He waited to see if he was going to black out or something, but nothing happened.

 

Rick put the device away. “Was t-that really a flu shot?” Morty rubbed his arm instinctively before putting his sleeve back down.

 

“Yes, _Morty._ ” Rick slammed the compartment shut. “I made it and took it myself, even. Let’s go.”

 

Rick led him into the house. Morty expected it to look like his old house, but it both did and didn’t. Rick’s presence was everywhere. The house was dark when they came in, and when the older man flicked on the lights in the kitchen, Morty immediately noticed that the kitchen table was covered in works-in-progress, tools, and bottles of alcohol in varying states of emptiness. Pictures that used to hang on the walls were gone, and the house had a faint antiseptic smell. Morty followed Rick into the living room, where the TV was faintly glowing with the sound off. He immediately noticed that most of the furniture was gone and the couch was different.

 

“You need to tell me what bedroom you want. Not mine, of course.”

 

The antiseptic smell was stronger on the second floor. Morty peeked into the bedrooms, except for Rick’s. Every room was completely stripped except for simple beds with bare mattresses and a little bit of empty furniture. It creeped him out to see the bedrooms that he associated with his parents, his sister, and himself so naked.

 

“I-I don’t know, Rick. It’s so weird. I guess I’ll just take my old room?”

 

“Thought you’d say that. I put sheets and shit in your closet. Don’t worry, they’re new.” Rick turned around to leave Morty in his new/old room. Morty stared into the bare room and thought about the empty house and its obvious signs of missing life.

 

“Rick?”

 

The man turned back. “Hmm?”

 

“What happened to your…to your family?”

 

Rick fished his flask out of his lab coat and spun off the cap. “Pandemic flu. Swept the whole world.” He took a long drink and belched.  

 

“T-That’s why you gave me a flu shot?” Rick nodded, making his flask disappear into his inner pocket. “Didn’t you give it to them?”

 

“Jesus, Morty, of course I did! I was too late – they already had it.” Rick ran his hand over his grey hair and turned away. “I’ll be downstairs. Settle in. We’ll, ugh, get you clothes and shit in the morning.”

 

Morty watched the man walk out of the room, white coat rippling with his stride. He went to the closet and, thankfully, Rick had put the bedding within his child’s reach. It was a struggle at his age to make the bed, but he got the plain white sheets and navy comforter on. He had thought of going downstairs to look around, maybe snoop in what Rick was building in the kitchen, but the sight of a comfortable bed and pillows was too much to resist. Morty stripped down to his underwear and slid between the soft cotton sheets. He was asleep soon after and never noticed Rick peek in, turn off the light, and shut the door.

 

***

 

It was light from the bedroom window that finally woke Morty up. He squinted at the sun and, for a moment, he thought he was in his old home. Then he remembered the day before and felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. He buried himself under the comforter and tried to consider his situation.

 

He was basically at the mercy of this man he knew nothing about. He wasn’t able to put it in those words, but the sensations of fear and lack of control had settled into his gut. The excitement he had felt about Rick’s obvious mechanical genius – even above other Ricks – had left in the light of day. He resigned himself as best he could for an eight-year-old; perhaps this was just the fate of being a Morty.

 

Morty finally forced himself out of the warm bed and dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He crept down the stairs, listening, and heard the sound of metal on metal coming from the kitchen. Morty approached slowly and found Rick wearing a magnifying lens over one eye and screwing a steel plate on top of a longer metallic box. He glanced up as Morty entered the kitchen.

 

“Well, well.” Rick set the box and screwdriver down before removing the headband that held his lens. “Wondered when you’d get up. Hungry?”

 

Nodding, Morty folded his arms and tried not to be anxious.

 

“Hope you like pancakes, kid, because that’s what we got.” Rick got up from the table and went to the fridge. “Sit down, Morty. Just shove that shit out of your way.” He pulled a glass bowl out and shut the fridge door with his hip.

 

Morty climbed onto the chair he had always sat in at his old home and surveyed the mess on the table. A lot of the stuff he didn’t recognize or know the purpose of: crystals of different colors, things that could have been light bulbs but contained opaque gases, complex circuit boards. On one corner of the table stood a long black column structure that narrowed over a flat base, almost like a huge microscope. He turned his attention to the box that Rick had been working on. Whatever was inside was hidden by the casing of the box itself, but Morty noticed that the plate Rick had been putting on was raised up at an angle, like a trigger plate. He had turned his attention back to the things that were closer at hand when he smelled cooking pancakes.

 

He was inspecting a pink crystal that was mounted into a plug with several thick wire prongs sticking out of the bottom when Rick swept the space in front of Morty clear with his arm and set down syrup and a dish with a stick of butter. He quickly brought over a plate piled with pancakes and silverware.

 

“Bon – *buuurp* – appetit.” Rick resumed his work while Morty slathered his pancakes with butter and syrup. He was chewing greedily when Rick said, “Xanthonite crystal.”

 

“Huh?” Morty asked around a mouthful of cakey fluff.

Gesturing with his screwdriver, “That crystal you were looking at. It’s xanthonite. Know what it does?” Morty shook his head. “Transmits particles across dimensions. I thought it was just electrons at first, might be more. I don’t have a use for it yet.” Rick went back to his box. “Gotta be good for something, though.”

 

Morty paused with his full fork close to his lips. “W-What are you working on?”

 

“It’s, eh,” Rick rotated the box so Morty could see it better, “a simple, dirty trap. Press the plate, which breaks the explosive canister inside. Boom.”

 

“W-W-What!? And you’re w-working on that _here_?”

 

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to blow us up, _Morty._ Christ, have a little faith.” He turned the screws a last few times and looked satisfied. “I make these all the time.”

 

“O-Oh.” Morty looked down at his plate and concentrated on finishing his breakfast, nervous all over again.

 

After setting the box and screwdriver aside, Rick asked, “Are you nervous?”

 

Morty started, feeling like his mind had been read. “H-Huh?”

 

“Your stutter. It’s worse.”

 

The whole topic of his stutter shamed Morty. He couldn’t help but do it, and kids at school used to tease him all the time. Every time he got anxious, afraid, or frantic, the stutters just spilled out. He nodded after a pause, putting his fork down on his now empty plate.

 

“More?” Rick pointed to the plate, but Morty shook his head no. Rick reached across the table and took the plate and fork. “Why are you nervous?” He got up and carried the dishes to the sink.

 

“I-I-I…” Morty clenched his fists in frustration. Not only was his voice betraying him, but he didn’t know how – or if he even should! – voice his fears to this unknown man. He struggled with himself while Rick quickly scrubbed the dish and set it in the dish rack. “I don’t know you!” he finally burst out and found himself close to tears. He put his hands up to his little face and tried to calm himself.

 

Morty felt hands enclosing his and he opened his eyes as Rick pulled them down. The man who looked so much like the Rick he’d known his whole life was making a serious face he had never seen before. This Rick had knelt beside his chair so they were eye to eye.

 

“Hey. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” He waited, probably for a reaction, but all Morty could do was swallow. “I’m not some sick fuck. And if you think you’re alone, remember, you’re not the only one here who lost everyone. All right?”

 

Morty gulped again and managed a nod, finally really understanding that this man had watched his whole family die while he was unable to help. Something about the look on his face said more than the sanitized rooms and missing knick-knacks could.

 

“Okay.” Rick let go of Morty’s hands and patted him on the shoulder before standing. “We should go shopping before my willpower disappears. I hate f-*buuurp*-fucking shopping.”   

 

“S-Sure, Rick.” Morty rubbed his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you are enjoying my version of how Evil Morty came to be evil as much as I am writing it. The next chapter will skip ahead a bit, but I've still got some child EM ideas in the pipeline before coming to his teen years. Cheers!


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